Intermittence
by Tallulah99
Summary: It is Sarah's twenty-first birthday and Jareth has decided that he is tired of waiting for her to come to him. One shot. Rated M for a reason.


**Intermittence**

By: Tallulah

It was a cold night. Stars pricked the clear black sky with a million pinpoints of light, all shining in companionable competition with the full globe of the winter moon. Sound carried for miles in the frigid air, bringing busy traffic noise all the way from the highway to the quiet side street in the downtown business district.

The office buildings that lined the avenue were dark, their windows black and opaque as they stared blindly down on the street below. They were slumbering glass and concrete giants, crowding shoulder to shoulder along the sidewalk, looming quietly over the sparse nighttime foot traffic.

Sarah Williams weaved on slightly unsteady feet as she walked down the sidewalk at the center of her small group of flushed and happy girlfriends. Talking and laughing as they walked, the five of them crowded close together for warmth and giddy courage, their breath streaming behind them in the chilly air.

Sarah tilted her head back and inhaled deeply, drawing in a crisp breath and then letting it out slowly, watching it fog and then dissipate into the crystal night. Behind her Stacy laughed at something Natalie was saying and misstepped, clipping the back of one of Sarah's impractical heels and making her stumble forward. On either side of her, Laura and Dana each grabbed an arm and saved her from a matching set of skinned knees.

Laura laughed, "God, Sare! How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Not nearly enough yet!" Natalie declared loudly.

Dana squeezed Sarah's arm through her heavy coat. "It's her twenty-first. She's _supposed_ to get drunk on her twenty-first!"

Sarah laughed along with them, but didn't bother correcting their misconception. Her sorority sisters had wanted to take her out for her twenty-first birthday and she had grudgingly agreed, but only to a shortened version, negotiating the traditional crawl down to three carefully chosen stops along the bus line.

It wasn't that she was opposed to having a good time. She just wasn't sure that getting falling-down drunk and spending the entire first day of her twenty-first year with a massive hang-over actually constituted a 'good time'. She had certainly indulged in several drinks over the course of the evening and was pleasantly buzzed, but she was far from drunk.

They could tell they had reached the club well before the awning covered doorway they were looking for came into sight around the corner. The thumping vibration of the music carried out into the street even through layers of brick, muted into indistinguishable noise, but still definite proof they had arrived at their final destination for the evening.

_Fantasy_, the understated sign above the forest green awning read.

The girls paid the cover charge and flashed their IDs to the bored bouncer who pulled himself reluctantly away from his magazine long enough to do a cursory check of their ages and mark the backs of their hands with the stamp that would allow them to drink in the club's bar. Sarah glanced down at the sloppy ink smudge, the words just barely legible on top of the other marks she already bore from the previous stops along their way.

"Happy birthday," the bouncer said as he handed her wallet back to her. He even flashed her a quick smile. "Try not to get _too_ drunk."

She managed to smile in return before Dana and Natalie grabbed her and yanked her inside, dragging her behind them like a pair of determined tugboats through a smoky room full of pool tables and then into the bar where Stacy and Laura had already secured a table near the massive black-lacquered bar top that spanned the entire length of the room.

They shed their jackets and scarves, stripping down to the clubbing attire that was far from appropriate for the cold winter temperatures, but was perfectly suited to the overly warm, smoke-filled interior of the club. Too many people drinking too much booze and then descending to the basement dance floor where close contact and exertion flooded the air with heat and hormones, made the air sticky and oppressive. The air conditioning was kept churning all night, even now, in the heart of the winter; little good thought it might be doing at the moment.

Sarah had been shivering in the cold all the way from the bus stop to the bar, but after mere moments inside, she was already feeling uncomfortably warm and starting to perspire. She pulled her tight lycra blouse surreptitiously away from her body, hoping for a stray breeze to cool her heated skin.

She had been a little skeptical about the outfit Dana had chosen for her to wear out tonight. A dark wine colored top that clung tenaciously to her every curve scooped low at the neckline and revealed more of her pale skin than she was normally comfortable baring. The irregularly cut hem of the black skirt she had borrowed from Natalie hung loose and flowing to just past her knees, the gauzy material swirling pleasantly around her legs when she moved.

Dana had assured her before they left her apartment that she was a knockout, but she had just rolled her eyes. Ponytails, t-shirts and jeans were her usual style. Putting herself on display like this just felt so _awkward_ to her. As she caught sight of her reflection in one of the glossy black walls, however, she was startled to realize that Dana might not have just been being kind; she actually did look pretty good. She had pinned her long, dark hair up off of her neck with a silver clip and then let it spill back down in a tangle of loose curls, courtesy of Laura's deft hand with a curling iron. Her eyes sparkled brightly beneath a layer of dark shadow and eyeliner, a side-effect of the drinking she'd done earlier in the evening.

Reaching up to correct a stray curl, Sarah caught a glimpse of someone behind her in the reflection and snapped her head around to face the packed room.

A familiar face ghosted through her minds eye. As ridiculous as it would be to see him _here_ of all places, it had been his face she had thought she'd seen. She turned abruptly and almost knocked Laura down as she returned to the table with drinks. The person, had he been real and not a figment of her imagination, was nowhere to be seen. She knit her brow and examined the milling crowd, but finally gave up and turned back to accept the drink that Laura sat in front of her. She had no idea what it was, but it was sweet and fruity and, best of all, cold and before she knew it, empty.

The girls fought to talk over the music that pounded up the stairs from the basement, leaning over the table to speak in each other's ear, much to the evident enjoyment of the trio of guys at the neighboring table who didn't even attempt to be discrete as they openly ogled Stacy and Dana's cleavage.

Sarah didn't bother trying to compete with the constant noise. She felt pleasantly lightheaded as she nursed another drink, relaxing back in her seat, content to people watch and enjoy the thrum of the deep base that hammered the air around her.

When Laura left to buy the third round of drinks, the rest of the sisters finally began to notice the attentive boys at the next table and Sarah watched with a smile as they traded flirtatious glances. Stacy and Natalie cupped hands around each other's ears, laughing and smiling, blushing prettily when the boys smiled back.

It was Dana, of course, who was the first to break the impasse by the simple expedient of unfolding herself from behind their table and with a quick wink to her friends, sauntering over to their table. She leaned in close to the handsome dark-haired boy nearest her, her lips millimeters from the shell of his ear. There was no telling what she actually said to him, but his face lit up and he flashed a wide smile to his friends before taking Dana's proffered hand and following her across the room and down the stairs to the dance floor.

With the ice broken, it was only a matter of seconds before Stacy and Natalie had paired off with the lucky guy's two friends. They too headed for the dance floor, leaving Sarah, quite willingly, to wait for Laura to return so she could help her take the drinks downstairs.

When Laura came back she thankfully left two of the drinks for Sarah to manage while she made her own way across the room and out of sight through the doorway to the stairs.

Sarah extricated herself from the back of the table and got to her feet, staggering slightly as the full effect of the drinks hit her. She flung out a hand, reaching for the wall though she knew it was much too far for her to reach. Just before she lost her balance completely, a sure hand closed on her arm from behind, steadying her until she got her footing back and then immediately released her. She turned with a word of thanks on her lips, but there was no one there. She turned in a puzzled circle and, for just a split second, was sure she glimpsed a familiar shock of white blonde hair moving through the crowd on the other side of the room. She did a double take, but the person was gone.

Moving slowly and feeling more than just slightly muzzy-headed, Sarah followed her friends down to the dance floor. She descended the dark stairway carefully, both to ensure the safe delivery of the drinks she carried and also to make sure she didn't misstep in the darkness. Each step down brought her closer to the thumping bass, the concussion from the massive speakers pulsing through her like a heartbeat as the flickering strobe lights painted the doorway below her with intermittent color.

The dance floor was packed with people. The heaving crowd moved like one amorphous mass under the flashing lights, keeping time with the rhythmic beat of the music. A lucky flare of the yellow strobe light spotlighted her friends by the far wall so Sarah pushed her way through the crowd, arriving breathless and slightly claustrophobic from her trip through the unrelenting press of bodies.

"Isn't this _great_?" Laura screamed in her ear as she took one of the drinks off of Sarah's hands.

"Yeah!" she screamed back, surprised to discover that she actually meant it.

She felt good. On some level she still realized that this was due in large part to the drinks she had consumed almost unthinkingly in the bar upstairs, but for right now, she found she didn't care. She was loose and relaxed. Her body hummed with the alcohol and the music. She smiled, heavy-lidded and sensual, and when the DJ changed songs, she let go of the last vestiges of her inhibitions and gave herself up to the music.

It was a techno mix with a grating, sliding, grinding beat, not at all her usual preference in music, but tonight it was exactly what she wanted. The lights churned in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color that alternately blinded and revealed, leaving afterimages dancing across her retinas even when she closed her eyes.

Loose-limbed and free of her usual self-consciousness, she danced without restraint, arms over her head as she moved her body sinuously in time to the music. Although they were only feet away, the erratic lighting isolated her from the rest of her group, from the rest of the room. She danced alone in a room full of people, sweat standing on her skin, the unrelenting press of the music leaving her panting, her lips parted unconsciously as she breathed in the heated, pheromone filled air. She was fluid and graceful, her hips swaying as she let the rhythm carry her.

She wasn't sure at what point it was that she gained a partner, only that she slowly became aware of him. He moved close behind her, his hands grazing her arms, her waist, her hips; his chest brushing her back as he mirrored her movements.

Oddly, his presence didn't disturb her, if anything, the random brushes and quicksilver touches heightened her enjoyment. Her breathing sped up and heat pooled low in her belly as she began to anticipate the contact, the brief touch of a shoulder, the graze of a hand against her waist, the brush of a thigh between her own.

The disconcerting play of lights kept his identity a secret, but she felt as if she knew him and accepted his gentle touch without question. With eyes closed, she lowered her hands to her thighs, enjoying the silken rub of the material between her fingers as her skirt slid like liquid across her skin. The music flowed through her, a relentless throb that her body echoed – pounding heart, gasping breath, surging blood. Blindly she rode the high of unrestrained abandon, her euphoria only heightened by the stranger at her back. She opened her eyes only when the song crashed to an end, just as the lights froze and for an instant illuminated the man behind her, his white blonde hair flaming under the bright glare of the xenon strobe.

_Jareth_, her mind supplied, reeling with recognition. She gasped and jerked upright as the lights scattered again. Behind her, the King of the Goblins tightened his fingers on her hips and yanked her back against him, her body flush with his own. He held her tightly, she couldn't have gotten away from him if she had tried, but she felt no fear, and no desire to try. There was no threat to his possession, only a dark promise. She felt his chest rise and fall, the warm exhalations of his rapid breath tickling the fine hairs at the base of her neck. He pressed firmly against her, back to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, evidence of his arousal pressing hard against her lower back. He wanted her to feel that, she realized, wanted her to feel his desire, wanted her to know that he wanted _her._

He freed her abruptly as the next song began and when she turned he was gone.

"Hey, Sare!" Dana grabbed her hand, her brow creased with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah yelled back, uncertain as to whether it was actually true or not. 'I'm fine! I'm good!" Her heart thundered in her ears, but she wasn't afraid; she was curious.

Dana gave her a searching look, but then smiled and squeezed her hand before turning back to her waiting dance partner. In an instant they were swallowed by the crowd and Sarah was alone once again.

She knew that if she had been sober she would have chosen to stay put, would have been good old practical, responsible Sarah and danced with her friends for a while before heading straight home to bed at the end of the night. She would have pushed the encounter with Jareth out of her head and done her best to forget about it just as she had been doing since their previous meeting six years ago.

But the fact was, she _wasn't_ sober and she didn't feel like being good old practical, responsible Sarah for a change.

Tonight she felt like being just a little bit dangerous.

She turned in a slow circle, seeking out the telltale glow of his fair hair as the lights cut sporadically throughout the room. She didn't see him at once, and in fact completed several revolutions before she finally spotted him, but it never even occurred to her to think she might not find him again.

He wanted to be found. He was playing with her, she knew, teasing and retreating, provoking and withdrawing. He wanted her to chase him, to find him out. It was the whole reason he had come tonight. This was a game for him and he was waiting to see if she was going to play.

"Olly olly oxen free," she whispered into the pounding beat of the music as she turned in place again, searching the anonymous faces of the sweating dancers for a glimpse of familiarity.

And then she saw him.

In the far corner of the packed dance floor was a concrete staircase that had been poured into the foundation of the back wall. It was unmarked and completely utilitarian. In the days before electronic technology had reduced the size and scope of stereo equipment, the staircase had lead to the DJs booth, a tiny, concrete bunker that would have been filled with electronic control boards. Now, in the days of computerized consoles, it was left abandoned and forgotten.

By everyone, that is, other than the unearthly creature that stood halfway up the cement stairs watching her with glittering eyes.

He smiled when their gazes locked during a brief flare of electric blue light. When the lights flashed again, he was gone, but the door at the top of the steps was just easing closed.

Sarah reached out and laid a hand on the guardrail at the bottom of the stairs, somewhat surprised to realize she had already crossed the room. Did she even remember forcing her way through the churning thicket of bodies? She glanced behind her. There was no sign of her route across the floor, but then, she supposed, there wouldn't be. Like water pouring into the wake of a ship, they had simply closed back in behind her, erasing all evidence of her passage.

She looked up at the unassuming grey door at the top of the stairs and shivered despite the oppressive temperature of the room. Jareth was up there. He was in the booth, alone, and he was waiting for her.

She didn't stop to think if she _should_, or wonder what might happen. She was not an innocent, she was twenty-one years old and, if not very experienced, still certainly not untried. She knew exactly what was going to happen if she went up those stairs.

She took the first step without hesitation.

When the door clicked shut behind her the volume of the music dropped dramatically. The bass still carried, even through the concrete walls, but the sound was dulled, and the respite from the constant noise was a relief.

The room was dark, but as the seconds ticked away in silence, her eyes began to adjust. Four small squares of glass were set deep into the thick concrete wall, serving as windows that overlooked the dance floor. As the strobe lights swung past the narrow openings, intermittent bursts of colored light lit the room like fireworks on the fourth of July.

She stood a few feet inside the door without moving, without speaking, simply waiting. She couldn't see him yet, but she knew he was watching her.

Her breath was still coming in short gasps from her exertion of the dance floor. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and along the cleft between her breasts. Stray curls that had worked themselves loose from her clips stuck wetly to the sides of her neck. She still felt drunk, but not unpleasantly so. On the contrary, it made her feel confident and bold. When her eyes had adjusted sufficiently that she could make out his silhouette on the far side of the room, the jolt she felt was not fear or apprehension, but anticipation.

"Hello, Jareth," she said.

He did not reply immediately, but pushed away from the wall and sauntered unhurriedly over to her, not stopping until he was well within her personal space. He was so close she was forced to tilt her head back to see his face.

"Hello, Sarah," he said. His voice was just as deep and sultry as she remembered it.

Little about him had changed in the six years since their first meeting. He was still strangely inhuman, his oddly sculpted brow and fathomless eyes setting him off as something purely _other_, but he had made some concessions to his appearance, presumably to better pass unnoticed in her world. His hair, while still the same shining white blonde, was shorter, tamed. And rather than the ostentatious attire he favored in his own kingdom, here he wore unremarkable, unrelenting black like a second skin. It was simple and yet sinful all the same, his lithe form on display in low-slung jeans and an open-collared shirt that just revealed the heavy pendant she remembered so well. She tried not to let her eyes linger too long on the patch of pale skin that showed at the base of his throat and completely failed.

He gave a low, silky chuckle. "You have grown up, haven't you, my girl?"

"I am not _your _anything," she countered belligerently. She tilted her chin up and regarded him with one delicately arched brow, refusing to let him intimidate her.

He leaned closer, bringing his face down beside hers until his lips just barely brushed the curve of her ear. "That's what you think," he said, his voice a low whisper that made her breath catch and her pulse race.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "You have no power over me. Or have you forgotten?"

He laughed in unexpected delight. "Oh no, I have not forgotten. It is _you_ who are in complete control." He circled her slowly, invading her space with his body and with the spicy scent of magic that came off of him in heady waves. "So why don't you send me away, Sarah?" he taunted. "You can, you know." He was behind her, trailing gentle fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder. "Say your right words and I will go. You can return to your friends, to your dancing, to your average, ordinary, mundane little life and I will trouble you no more." He was in front of her again, sliding a single finger, almost casually, across her collarbone and down to the flimsy neckline of her shirt. "Or…not."

He let his fingers fall away and she started breathing again with a little shuddering gasp. "What do you want, Jareth?" she asked hoarsely. "Why are you here?"

"Because I grew tired of waiting for you to come to me." He moved like a cat, quick and graceful, backing her into the cold cinderblock wall and holding her there with the full length of his body, his arms caging her in place. "You haven't forgotten about me, Sarah," he said. "I know that you choose to pretend that you have, but _I_ know better." He leaned in close, burying his nose in the crook of her shoulder and nuzzling the sensitive area behind her ear. "I can see into your dreams," he murmured against her skin, making her shiver. "I know all of your deepest, darkest fantasies, all of the things that you desire, that make you cry out in your sleep, but leave you wet and wanting in your lonely bed." He trailed the barest of caresses down the side of her throat, his lips barely touching her skin. "Do you know what I see when I look into your dreams, Sarah? Do you? I see myself the way you remember me, taking you every which way you can think of. I see your head thrown back, your eyes closed and your mouth open in abandon while I plunder your ever-so-willing body. _That_ is what I see. I have watched you dream of so many scenarios, so many possibilities, so many _positions_. You really are quite creative, my girl, but do you know what?" His lips were back on the shell of her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs on her neck. "You forgot some."

She moaned softly, embarrassed and aroused, heat pooling in her groin. Those damn dreams had tormented her for years. She couldn't count the number of times she had awoken in the dark of night, gasping and wanting. And that he had seen her…that he had _watched_.

Chest to chest, hip to hip and wearing an arrogant smile, he pressed himself firmly into the apex of her thighs, grinding gently. "So now, to indulge in one of your world's more colorful colloquialisms, I am going to fuck you, Sarah." His strange eyes looked down on her, heavy-lidded with unconcealed desire. "I am going to reach up underneath that charming little skirt, tear those practical white panties off of you with extreme prejudice and then bury myself so deeply inside you that you scream my name." His lips curled into a slow, seductive smile. "And you are going to enjoy it, my girl." He rubbed the pad of his thumb roughly across her lower lip, intentionally wetting it on the tip of her tongue as she panted against his hand. "Oh yes, you are most certainly going to enjoy it."

She knew she should say something, _anything_, but she couldn't get past the heavy, languorous feeling that suffused her body, relaxing her limbs and leaving her sagging against the wall, held up only by the pressure of his lean frame. She knew she could stop him now if she wanted to, could tell him 'no' and push him away and that he _would_ go. But she didn't want to. Her body sang with the lust that flowed through her veins like a drug. She was feeling irresponsible, dangerous and dark and she _wanted_ him; wanted him to make good on his promises, wanted him to touch her, wanted his lips on her body, wanted to feel him move inside her.

Her eyes locked onto his. Slowly and very deliberately she opened her mouth and captured his thumb with her teeth, closing her lips around the tip and sucking gently.

She was gratified by the subtle shock that flickered across his face. His strange eyes dilated in pleasure and he surged forward with a throaty growl, rocking against her body in a primal, instinctive thrust that ground his erection almost painfully into her belly. He caught her face between his hands, digging his fingers into the line of her jaw as he tilted her head back. His lips hovered millimeters above hers for a long moment, their panting breath mingling, and then at last, _finally_, his mouth was on hers in a searing, wet, and brutal kiss.

She moaned into him and he pressed his advantage, deepening their kiss, forcing her to open under the insistent demand of his tongue. He ravaged her mouth mercilessly, licking, biting, tasting, teasing until she responded, meeting the insistent stroke of his tongue with her own.

He made a satisfied noise deep in his throat and moved one hand to the back of her neck, holding her possessively. The other hand slid deftly down, skimming the side of her breast, her ribcage, her belly, her hip, until he cupped her bottom, forcing her hard against him, raising her leg to his waist to better position himself against her. The friction was exquisite torture, layers of fabric chafing maddeningly where they each longed for the slick glide of skin on bare skin.

She gasped when he released her lips and trailed a burning path down the column of her throat with his mouth. He slid his hands beneath the silky fabric of her blouse, skimming lightly up the soft swell of her stomach to cup her satin covered breasts, the nipples already hard and tender against his palms. She moaned as he brushed his thumbs gently across the sensitive buds and pressed forward into his grasp, craving pressure, reveling in the glorious ache that burned between her legs.

Jareth's breath was coming as hard and fast as hers, his face slack with desire, his mismatched eyes glittering. Impatiently he reached for the hem of her shirt, somehow divesting her of both it and the underlying bra without missing a beat.

She stood uncovered before him, her breasts exposed to his gaze, her chest heaving. For a moment he held back, letting the erratic light from the small windows play across her skin, drinking her in, and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet, sucking her nipples gently into his mouth, one at a time, licking with infuriating slowness across the pebbled surface until she shuddered, her breath coming in panting gasps. He suckled her with insistent pressure, her whole consciousness narrowed to that sensitive bundle of nerves and the moist heat of his tongue.

And then his hand was beneath her skirt, fingers curled so that his nails lightly scraped her skin as he moved slowly, slowly up the inside of her thigh until she thought she'd scream if he didn't touch her properly. And then he did, cupping the full mound of her flesh with a firm hand. She moaned and felt her legs go weak and would have fallen had he not been holding her up.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. "You are so wet, my girl," he said softly, his voice strained. "So very wet for me." He moved his hand just barely and she bucked against him with a cry. "Oh yes," he hissed, "you will cry out for me. You will _scream_ for me, Sarah. Before all is said and done you _will_ call me your master." He thrust his hips again, hard against her thigh. "As you have long been my mistress."

An old metal desk was shoved against the outer wall of the booth and it was to this that he led her, turning and backing her blindly across the narrow room until the back of her legs hit the old, scarred surface. He pushed up her skirt with impatient hands, and, as promised, tore her panties from her body, ripping the plain, delicate fabric with a sharp yank that left angry red lines on her pale skin. She gasped at the brief flash of pain and then again when he sank to his knees in front of her, bowing his head to brush soft kisses along the vivid marks.

She shivered under the feather light caress of his soft lips, warm and moist on her sensitive skin, so very, very close to the downy hair that covered her sex.

He seemed in no hurry, gently ministering to each mark he had left with careful dedication. His hands reached up and grasped the curve of her bottom, holding her still while he tenderly caressed the delicate skin. "You have the most intoxicating aroma, my girl," he murmured softly, rubbing his cheek back and forth against her thigh like a cat. "So musky and sweet." He inhaled deeply and let his eyes flutter closed as he drank her in, then exhaled with a shuddering sigh that stirred her damp curls and made her squirm. He chuckled, a maddening vibration, and then with a knowing glance up at her, turned his head and brushed his lips lightly across the dark hair between her legs, careful to make no real contact with the swollen flesh beneath. "Is this what you want?" He did it again, slowly. "Do you want me to taste you, Sarah?

She moaned and fisted her hands in his hair, almost unconsciously trying to draw him down to where her body cried out for attention.

"Ah-ah," he admonished gently, disentangling her nerveless fingers. "None of that now." He rested his cheek against the soft skin of her hip and brushed his fingers lightly across her sex.

"Please," she whispered, panting in anticipation. "Please!"

"Please, what?" he asked blithely, continuing his torment. "Tell me what you want me to do, Sarah. I am yours to command, after all." She could practically hear the mocking smile in his voice. "Do you want me to taste you?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want me to lick you, Sarah? Do you want me to put my tongue inside you? I could do so easily." His hand never stopped moving, never _really_ touching her. "I could bury my face between your thighs and ease your suffering with my mouth…if you want me to."

"Yes!" she said again, her voice a sibilant hiss. She was nearly mindless with need, her legs trembling from pent up desire, from pure want.

"Then say so, my girl. _Tell_ me what you want me to do."

"Please, Jareth! Use your mouth!" She was beyond any scope of modesty or propriety now. If he didn't relieve the ache between her legs soon, she was going to scream.

"Tell me to fuck you, Sarah," he demanded evenly, applying the most infinitesimal pressure with his fingers. "Tell me to fuck you with my tongue…and I will."

White lights exploded behind her closed eyes and she moaned. "Please, yes! Fuck me with your tongue! Please!"

The first contact of his hot tongue made her arch her back and cry out. She had never known such profound relief as the first flush of absolute pleasure coursed through her body. Her chest heaved as she leaned back on her hands, gripping the edge of the desk, her naked legs spread wide.

She was lost to everything but the surreal abandon of the moment, the alcohol that flowed through her veins, the pounding bass, the erratic bursts of dazzling light, the chilly surface of the desk beneath her and the clever mouth of the Goblin King as he dedicated himself to pleasing her, making her body sing under the single-minded attention of his lips and tongue. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and parted her with his fingers, delving deeper into her moist, hot center with sharp, expert thrusts that made her jerk in response, moaning softly with each intimate pass of his tongue.

Sarah felt the pressure building deep inside her, warmth radiating out as her breath came short, gasping as she reached desperately for her climax. "Yes!" she hissed, tightening her legs as the wave began to crest.

And then it stopped.

She opened her eyes in bewilderment and looked down on him as he smirked up at her from between her thighs. He wiped her moisture from his lips with the pad of his thumb and then inserted it in his mouth, sucking it clean with a wicked smile.

"You taste as good as you smell, my girl."

"What are you doing?!" she demanded, annoyed. "Why did you stop?"

He chuckled, the warm exhalation of air against her tender skin making her flinch. "You didn't think I'd let you go without me, did you? Don't worry; I'm not done with you yet." He stood and leaned over her, capturing her lips in a musky kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips as his finger slipped into the swollen folds of her sex.

She moaned at the glorious intrusion, arching her back and flexing her hips to meet the steady press of his thrusting fingers. Tired of passivity, she reached for him blindly, wrapping her damp fingers in the front of shirt. She fisted her hands in the fabric and yanked hard, ripping the two halves apart and sending buttons flying off into the darkness.

He pulled back abruptly, looking down at her in gratified surprise. His lips curled and he released her long enough to tear the shirt the rest of the way open, sending the last two buttons after the rest.

The shirt hung in ruined tatters, his lean chest bare but for the horned pendant. His jeans rode low on narrow hips, a faint trail of fair hair running from his navel down into his waistband. She pushed herself upright and reached for him again, this time extending a tentative finger to trace the oddly shaped ornament he wore around his neck. His chest was heaving, his eyes glittering dangerously, but he held still as she outlined the shape of the cold metal.

She followed one of the downward curving points and then let her fingers slip off of it, lightly grazing his chest with her fingernails. He shuddered and closed his eyes and she grinned, feeling her body flush with power. She put both hands on him then, ghosting them across his pale skin, gently scoring his sides with her nails, delighting in the goose bumps she raised. When she found his nipples with her fingertips he shuddered and she was delighted by that too. Brazenly she leaned forward and ran her tongue across one of the tiny buds. He reacted like an electric current had shot through him, forcing himself against her with a groan.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, enjoying the feel of his erection rubbing against her where only his jeans separated them. He was panting and rubbing against her almost mindlessly, his eyes unfocused. She repeated her experiment, sucking and licking one pale nipple while she lightly scraped her nails across the other. He thrust hard against her mound, sending delicious waves of pleasure through her body.

Bold fingers trailed down the firm lines of his chest, lower and lower, until they scratched lightly against the fabric of his jeans. She made to move lower, fingers itching to cup the hard bulge there, but he reached down and captured her hand roughly in his own.

"Enough!" he ground out, returning her hands firmly to the surface of the desk. "This is _my_ seduction." And then he flashed a wicked smile that showed off his pointed incisors. "And you're going to want to hold on to something."

She leaned back and made a great show of grasping the edges of the desk with her fingers, stretching her body across the surface, her breasts jutted forward like an offering, her legs open wide in invitation.

He dropped his hands to the crotch of his jeans, his eyes never leaving the sinful tableau she created, like a gift from some magnanimous god. He freed himself quickly and then he was between her legs once more, rubbing himself gloriously in her wet heat.

She moaned at the sliding contact, arching her back and forcing her breasts forward so that he felt compelled to taste them again. He grasped her hips, thrusting against her as he paid homage to her nipples with his tongue.

It was exquisite torture to push in and out of her wetness, letting the friction build between them, small gasping moans coming from her as he deliberately angled his movements to brush against her most sensitive spot.

"Do you want me inside you?" he asked softly. Your body says you do. You're wide open for me, Sarah, so hot and so very, very wet. Indeed, you'd fall over the edge now if I'd let you." He slowed his movements, and she made a guttural sound of displeasure. "But I'll not be that easy on you. No, my girl, you're going to have to wait as I have had to wait." Leaning forward he captured her lips again, rubbing his chest against hers as he continued his gentle assault. Her lips were dry from her rapid, open-mouthed breathing and he moistened them with his tongue as he thrust it into the warm cavern of her mouth and then withdrew, fucking her mouth with his tongue in time with the thrust of his cock.

"You were but a child when you came to me," he said against her lips. "So I waited for you to grow up. And it should be an easy thing to wait, for an immortal, but it was not. I burned as I watched you grow into your maturity, watching you dally with the boys of your world who knew nothing of you. And still I waited. I watched your dreams and I knew your desires and _still_ you did not come to me. Are you truly so stubborn, Sarah? So intent on self-denial? You think you _should_ not want me and so you pretend as if you don't?" He slowed further, barely moving at all. "Well, you cannot feign disinterest now, can you, my pet? Your body betrays you. So tell me what I want to hear, tell me what I already know, what your dreaming mind showed me a hundred times over. Tell me that you want me."

She opened her eyes, heavy lidded with lust. "Yes," she panted. "Yes, I want you. Please."

"Good," he murmured and thrust home.

She cried out in earnest as he sheathed himself fully inside her, her body spasming around him as pleasure radiated through her like an explosion.

Without giving her time to adjust he withdrew and slammed home again, and then again, sweat standing on his brow as he reveled in the conquest of her body. His hands were spread across her hips, fingers bruising, holding her in place.

She dug her fingers into the edges of the desk as he pounded into her, distantly amused to realize that he hadn't been kidding; she really did need to hold onto something. He was was lean and strong and hard against her and she rocked back under the force of his thrusts, the glorious friction between their bodies spreading like gentle fire through her veins.

She was not a virgin, he was not her first, but she had known nothing like this effortless mastery of her body. He seemed to know what she needed and when, giving her just the right pressure, just the right angle, lowering his head in a fierce kiss when she most craved the taste of his lips, cupping her breast with a heated palm when she ached for his touch. He roused her every nerve ending until their joining was a delicious form of pain, arousal so thorough that it seemed almost impossible to believe that her body could endure it.

He brought her closer and closer to the edge until she hovered perspiring and breathless at the peak, desperately straining to find her release. Smiling wickedly he seemed determined to keep her there indefinitely, giving her only as much as he must to keep her at the summit, but no more.

Maddened by the erotic torment, Sarah reached for him, vaguely determined to reciprocate suffering with suffering _somehow_, but the moment her fingers grazed his chest he seized her wrists, pulling her upright and then turning her with a jerk. He captured her arms behind her back so that she was forced to lean forward, her naked breasts cold against the old steel desk, her nose inches from the tiny square of glass that looked down on the sea of people below.

With a cry of disappointment she fought his imprisoning arms until he leaned forward, stilling her struggles with the weight of his body.

"Patience," he purred into her ear making her legs quiver with need.

With one hand keeping her arms pinned behind her, Jareth used the other to push her skirt up again, finding her warm, wet center with skillful fingers. As he slid a one inside her, and then another, she shuddered and closed her eyes, laying her cheek against the desk.

"No, no," he chided softly, thrusting his fingers gently. "Open your eyes, my girl. Open your eyes and look down on them while I fuck you."

She did as he bade, lifting her chin into awkward position, her eyes nearly closed in pleasure as he teased her swollen flesh. The strobe lights flashed across the opening, leaving vivid spots burning in her vision. The crowd on the other side of the glass may as well have been a million miles away for how separated she felt from them. They moved as one fluid organism, a dark shape writhing in time to the beat. Occasional faces were lit from above and then gone, individuals lost in the mass of humanity.

Behind her, Jareth redoubled his grip on her wrists, though she made no other move to fight him. He shoved her skirt out of the way and positioned himself carefully, pushing slowly until he was sheathed fully in her heat. He let out a heavy breath and she moaned at the incredible sensation of fullness.

He lay across her, his chest pressed to her back, her twisted arms trapped uncomfortably between them. "Do you see them, Sarah?" he asked and thrust. "Do you see those simple animals down there? They think they are alive, that they are _living_." He thrust again, harder this time, causing her to gasp. "You don't feel as if you are a part of their world, do you? You never have. You look at those mindless, soulless animals around you and wonder what it's for, what they are for, how _this_ can be all there is." He punctuated his words with his hips, rocking into her, stroking his full length and retreating. "Tonight they will dance and drink and laugh and fuck." He slammed hard into her, shaking the desk. "But tomorrow they will awaken and do the same things they did yesterday and the same things they will do again the day after. Tedium, obligation, monotony." He released her arms and let her put them down on the desk next to her, but he wasn't done yet.

He leaned forward until he was covering her back with his body. He ran his hands up her sides, teasing the outer curve of her breasts until she pushed up on her elbows to give him better access, which he took. "You weren't meant for this life, Sarah, for this world," he whispered. "You are not one of them and you know it. You were born for something _more_."

His hands were heated on her breasts, the nipples cold and hardened from contact with the steel surface of the desktop. He brushed his palms across the sensitive buds, gently, with a delicate touch, and then groaned at the gush of moisture he felt inside her. "You like that, don't you?" he said smugly, repeating the gesture until she shuddered and dropped her head.

"No, no," he reminded her, tugging on a lock of her hair until she pushed herself upright once more. "I want you to watch them, remember. They cannot see you, but I want you to see them. I want you to see them while I'm inside you." He thrust again, creating a leisurely tempo while he teased the dusky tips of her nipples. "You are nothing like them, my girl, and you never will be, no matter how hard you try to force yourself into their worthless mold." He leaned forward again, his breath hot on her shoulder. "You weren't meant to waste your life on this bitter reality. You are special. You are unique. You were meant to be a _queen_, Sarah.

Queen.

Through the haze of sex and alcohol, the word sunk into her consciousness like a dash of cold water. "No!" she gasped and tried to stand, panic suddenly jolting through her.

Irritably, Jareth forced her back down on the desk, resuming his steady rhythm as if she had never interrupted. "Fret not, dear girl. I did not come here today to steal you away. When you come to me at last, it will be of your own free will. But make no mistake," he added, his voice dropping an octave, "you _will_ come."

"You assume a lot, Goblin King," she retorted breathlessly, fully aware of how untenable her pretended disinterest was with him buried deep inside of her, his hands cupped around her breasts.

He chuckled again, pleased. "This," he said, stroking so hard that she moaned. "_This_ is what draws me so irresistibly to you, Sarah. Beneath that beautiful body is a soul of fire and proud defiance unlike any I've ever seen. Oh yes, you were _made_ to be my queen." His hands dug into her hips, guiding his movements as he struck home again and again. "Imagine, Sarah," he crooned. "Imagine an eternity together. Imagine ruling at my side, a kingdom at your command." His hand slipped between her legs and she bucked against him, crying out as he found the sensitive bundle of nerves there. "Yes!" he hissed "Cry out for me, sweet, Sarah!"

She jerked against the onslaught of his body, nearly incapable of speech as she rode the wave of pleasure that rose once more inside her.

"You _will_ be mine," he promised, emphasizing his words with rough passes of his fingers. "You will be my slave, just as I am yours."

"No," she managed breathlessly, her eyes screwed shut.

"Yes," he assured her. "You will." His fingers increased their tempo and she nearly wept. "I will break you, and, in the end, you will come to me of your own free choice, but be warned, sweet Sarah, I am through with being patient. I have been as passive as I intend to be. I will no longer sit idly by and wait without taking action."

"You have no power over me!" she breathed, rocking against his hand, fighting her way towards her climax.

"Oh, you don't think so?" he said. His tone was amused. "Would you like me to prove it to you?" Immediately he eased up the tempo of his fingers, slowed the thrusts of his hips.

She cried out in frustration.

"That's right," he sang, moving his fingers and hips gently, so frustratingly slowly. "I _do_ have power over you, but it is only the power that you have given me and I cannot take it up without losing some of my own."

He pulled her upright and then turned her body, pressing her back up against the wall and then burying himself inside of her once more in a single motion.

"You are my equal, Sarah, he said. "And no one has ever had such power over me as you do." He flexed his hips and made her gasp. He pressed his forehead hard against hers. "I want you, Sarah. I want you, and I will stop at _nothing_ until you are mine."

Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen with use, and every nerve in her body was tense, desperate for release. "You can't have me," she said hoarsely, defiant even as she wrapped her leg around him to steady herself.

He chuckled, "That's right, fight me, girl. Defy me. It would disappoint me greatly if you didn't." He ground his body against hers, increasing the pace of his thrusts, then worked his hand between their bodies, stroking her with gentle fingers, bringing her back to the brink once more. "Now scream for me, Sarah," he whispered in her ear. "Scream my name and come for me."

She meant to resist, meant to hold fast and deny him the satisfaction, but her body was shaking with such need, her blood roaring in her ears, the pressure in her groin built up to such a fever pitch that she thought she might come apart.

"Please!" she cried.

"My name!" he demanded. "I want to hear it falling from your lips. Scream it, Sarah and I'll give you what you want."

"Jareth!" She called out, letting go of the last shred of her restraint and giving herself up to him. "Jareth!"

"Good girl," he murmured in satisfaction. He bore down with his fingers and with two more powerful thrusts let her fall over the edge into an earth-shattering orgasm, her head thrown back, her mouth open, breathless as she rode the waves of pleasure and he pounded to his own completion, seconds behind her.

They remained joined, sweating bodies pressed together, their breathing coming in erratic gasps. Sarah wasn't sure she would ever be capable of moving away from the supportive wall at her back.

"You're a bastard," she managed finally and then let her head fall back limply against the wall behind her.

"Yes, I am," he agreed cheerfully, "but I am _good_."

"I will never be your queen," she said, but even she knew her voice lacked conviction, if the fact that he was still inside her even now weren't enough of a testament. She wanted to blame the alcohol, to deny responsibility for her choice, but she was honest enough to admit, if only to herself, that the booze might have been what got her up the stairs, but it wasn't what had kept her there. She had wanted every second of this and it had been _good_.

"Yes, you will," he said, smiling. "And you and I both know it. It is simply a matter of time." He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and kissed the damp skin there before finally stepping away, catching her as she sagged without the pressure of his body to hold her up. "And I shall enjoy every second I must devote to convincing you." He chuckled and helped her reach out to the edge of the desk to keep her balance.

She leaned heavily against it and waited for her legs to begin responding to commands from her brain again.

"Here you go, my dear," Jareth said, handing her something soft. "You may find that you need this later."

It took her a moment to identify the blouse she had been wearing and mortification lanced through her when she realized she had been standing there, completely unselfconsciously, wearing nothing but her rucked up skirt and unsuitable shoes. She wiggled quickly back into her top and began casting around for her missing underclothes.

"Looking for these?" Jareth asked. He was holding her lacey bra and torn white panties in one hand. She made to reach out, but he pulled back. "Ah-ah," he said, with a mocking grin. "I think I'll be keeping these."

"Give me my underwear you goddamned…"

The door behind her swung open and the thudding music from downstairs flooded into the room. "Sarah, are you in here?" Laura's voice called just before the overhead light flared to life.

Laura and Dana stood in the doorway to the room, their concerned expressions going from worried to relieved when they saw her standing there. "Oh, thank God!" Dana cried, rocketing in the room and nearly tackling Sarah with a hug. "Where the hell have you been? We've been looking all over for you!"

Sarah turned to look at Jareth, but he was gone. "Sorry, guys," she said with an apologetic smile, brushing her hands surreptitiously across her skirt and praying that everything was covered. "I just…uh, wasn't feeling so great and needed a place to sit down."

Dana eyed the tiny room skeptically. "And _this _is where you ended up, huh?"

Sarah laughed. "Well, it _seemed_ like a good idea." She glanced around again, feeling strangely bereft and a little oddly out of place at the same time.

"Yeah, well, next time _tell _someone when you get an idea this good, m'kay, Sare?" Laura shook her head and started towards the door. "Come on; let's get the birthday girl home before we all turn into pumpkins!"

Sarah followed them out, meekly, stopping briefly at the threshold as a tiny spot on the floor caught her eye. She stooped and picked it up.

"What is that, a button?" Dana asked. "Huh. Well it doesn't look like one of yours at least."

Sarah looked at the tiny black disc in her palm and closed her fingers tightly around it. "No it's not mine," she said, but her lips curled into slow smile as she followed her friends out onto the cement staircase. "If you want it, come and get it," she whispered into the empty room and then let the door drift slowly shut behind her.

AN: I wrote the first 2,500 words of this way back in 2008 and then stumbled across it again last week in a dusty and disused fic folder on my harddrive. Since I had some free time and an unusual amount of residual motivation, I thought I'd go ahead and knock the rest of it out. It's not my usual 'thing', but the plot bunny wants what the plot bunny wants. Hope you enjoyed it!


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